Glasses
by KiteTeraton
Summary: 1899. Specs and Dutchy go for a walk in the marketplace. Implied slash. Rated for a swear or two.


Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. 'Wish I did, but I don't.

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Specs and Dutchy walked along the brick road of the marketplace. The scent of fresh fruit mingled with whiffs of candy and spices, enough to make even the most satisfied of men hungry again.

The two boys were quite different from each other in appearance. One a striking, white blonde, the other a shy, curly-haired brunette. One had a carefree sort of disposition, the other a slightly bookish feel to him. Even their hats were different, the former wearing the typical cabby cap, while the other sported a sleek, black bowler.

Dutchy gave Specs a sly look as he snuck a hand into a nearby vendor's pile of fruit, pulling out a shiny orange. Specs protested silently, giving him a stern look, but Dutchy made a shushing motion at him, as if to say "trust me".

Unfortunately, the vendor had chosen that very moment to look up from what was promising to be a very profitable sale.

"YOU!" He bellowed, his face turning slightly purple.

Dutchy made to run, but instead found himself pinned against the wall by two sharp fists. His spectacles fell to the ground, from their perch on his nose, with a soft clatter, muffled by the sounds of the street. Dutchy clenched his teeth tightly together as the figure up against him became suddenly blurry and unfocused.

"Leave him alone, man!" Shouted a deep voice, edging closer. Dutchy saw a fuzzy, rotund figure coming towards him. Or maybe it was towards the man holding him up. He couldn't tell. He could, however, sense that the man in front of him was but an inch away from his face, his breathing uneven, fuming, his breath sour.

"I said leave him alone."

The vendor relaxed his grip on the front of Dutchy's shirt. Dutchy could sense that he was now paying attention to the voice. They stayed like that for a few moments, no one moved, until Dutchy coughed, his air supply running low. The fists on his shirt loosened completely, and the blob in front of him faded away, having gone back to it's respective cart, as if nothing had happened. Dutchy could feel a familiar hand on his shoulder. iSpecs/i. The hand found his and pulled him up slowly.

Dutchy suddenly snapped back to himself.

"My glasses! Specs! My--"

_Crack_.

The sound of glass snapping, wires bending. Specs winced as Dutchy's face fell.

"_Christus_..." Dutchy swore under his breath, punching the air. "That was them, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"_God Verdomme_." He ran a hand through his sun-streaked hair. "What am I--Specs, I don't got even another penny to spend! How'm I gonna get--"

"Shh. Dutchy, we'll fig're somethin' out. It's gonna' be fine."

Dutchy slumped down, his back against the wall, and buried his head in his hands. "No, it's not. Those were my father's glasses, my last connection to what I guess you'd call a home." He stared as people walked by, trodding on shards of what once used to be a pair of spectacles. "And now they're gone."

Specs just looked at him, his expression pained.

"I...I didn't know."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah..."

Specs knelt down and picked a twisted piece of wire off of the cobblestones. He handed it to Dutchy, who moaned softly, grieving the loss.

"Thanks." He mumbled after about a minute, and got to his feet again, shoving the wire into his pocket. "Damn it...Specs, I can't see." He blinked in the morning light. He stretched out his arms, feeling out his surroundings. It was strange how a place he was so familiar with could suddenly feel so strange. He felt a rough hand grab hold of his.

"I'll help you."

Dutchy accepted the offer cautiously. He couldn't see. He was nervous, but wouldn't admit to it. Whatever he was feeling, he was glad that it was Specs watching out for him.

As they walked down the crowded street, Specs felt a sudden warmth wash over him, and not because of the afternoon sun. He had responsibility, and not because of a few silly papes. Dutchy was depending on him. Dutchy trusted him. He squeezed the pale, inky hand he was holding, and Dutchy squeezed back. He was kind of glad that Dutchy couldn't see him, because he was smiling, like he'd never smiled before.


End file.
